


Lessons In Bruce's Study

by WeirdAlterEgo



Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Cock Warming, Coercion, Dark Bruce Wayne, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not beta read we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: They don’t do this often, because the Manor is rarely empty save for the two of them. But from time to time Bruce plans these lessons for Tim. To help him. To teach him how to stay still under any and all circumstances.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne
Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952965
Comments: 3
Kudos: 158





	Lessons In Bruce's Study

Tim stares at the windowpane, tracking the rivulets of rain racing each other down. He imagines using his fingers to cut them off, to see how they reform. He wishes he could do it. Just walk over to the window, feel the chill of the glass on his skin. To do anything. The air is growing cooler, even though it is the height of summer. He can’t stop it. He shivers.

“Focus!” Bruce snaps quietly, but his voice is steel under velvet, and Tim stills even more so.

He wishes to fidget, but his hands have been laid out over the old mahogany desk, in clear view, and he is not allowed to move even a single finger. He wishes to do anything but stare at and outside the window, watch the lights fade while Bruce works quietly. And more than anything, he wishes to whimper, to moan and _move_ every time Bruce moves even just a little bit under him, his hard length shifting inside Tim, the head of his dick pressing up against his prostate. It pulses inside Tim, or maybe it is Tim, whose blood is loud in his ears, even though Bruce has trained him well by now to ignore it. But still, he wishes there was something more to occupy him. Something other than to sit on Bruce’s lap, limp, impaled on his full, hard length as he reads, types and makes phone calls.

Sometimes he fucks Tim, other times he wraps an arm across him and carries him around the room, speared on his cock as he gathers something: a book, a pen, a pillow to push Tim’s face in while he fucks his limp body spread over the desk. 

They don’t do this often, because the Manor is rarely empty save for the two of them. But from time to time Bruce plans these lessons for Tim. To help him. To teach him how to stay still under any and all circumstances. There was a speech once, Tim knows, and a harness, too, but he is glad he outgrew that one.

He shivers again.

Bruce’s hands come up to rest on his hips. They are warm and huge. “I told you to stay still.” The hands rub his sides, his arms, his chilled hands. “Would you like if I turned on the heating?” he magnanimously offers. “Your time is almost up.”

“No.” Tim replies almost instantly, hoping he did not sound panicked. That could… would mean extra time. But more than that, he hopes Bruce won’t decide to turn on the heating. Tim is sure he couldn’t stay perfectly still and pliant on Bruce’s cock if he stood up and walked across the room to turn the heat on. Or worse, maybe Bruce would need to turn on the central heating, for which he would need to cross half the Manor, bouncing Tim on his cock. And he would undoubtedly chide Tim for his sensitivity. “I’m good” he assures the older man.

“Fine.” Bruce says after a pregnant pause. “See that you don’t move again. Think of the remaining time.”

Tim concentrates on staying perfectly still. He’s lost count already. It was still light outside when they started, but the sky has turned completely dark by now. The lights of Gotham glitter through the windowpanes, smeared and blurred by the unending summer rain. He follows blue, purple and neon pink raindrops with his eyes while Bruce starts to fuck up into him.

The room is heavy with the creaking of Bruce’s leather armchair, the clinking of pens on the smooth mahogany desk, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin. Bruce grabs the back of his neck and pushes him down against the desk’s cool surface, his other hand grabbing Tim’s waist in a vice-like grip, yanking him down into each punishing thrust.

Tim’s head is swimming, the roar of his pulse getting louder and louder in his ears, almost eclipsing Bruce’s grunts and his own sounds, soft whines of breath punched out of him he cannot control. He feels tight in his skin, vulnerable and _something_ as Bruce fucks into him with abandon. He thinks he is drooling. The thrusts don’t reach his sweet spot, they never do when they are at the end of a lesson. It’s rare when Tim comes before the end of Bruce’s lessons.

The thrusts pick up speed until Bruce unloads inside Tim with a harsh grunt for the… third? No. Fourth time. It doesn’t feel too full yet in there, Tim knows, because during the enema lessons Bruce has painstakingly shown Tim the amount of liquid that was to be fed into him. And it was. Tim knows he could take more, if he had to.

Bruce has taught him well.

He shivers, but now he is allowed.

“Hold it.” Bruce instructs. He sets Tim’s legs down, lets go of his neck to pull out a drawer, so Tim breathes in deeply. The scent of the baby wipes Bruce uses teases his nose. He wants to sneeze.

Bruce withdraws and Tim dutifully clenches down. Holds it in as he best could while Bruce wipes down his front, buttons up his pants. The plug, as it slides in, is expected. It’s bigger than the last one, Tim thinks idly, possibly bigger than Bruce’s considerable length.

He will know when Bruce allows him to remove it.

Bruce tsks as he wipes Tim’s bottom, unhappy with the inevitable spillage. Tim is used to this, too. He stays still as Bruce wipes him down, until the only seed he has is plugged up inside him.

Tim is still painfully hard.

Bruce deposits the baby wipes with care into the same drawer. His suit rubs against Tim’s sensitive bottom. Precome drips from his tip onto Bruce’s expensive rug. He clenches down on the whine, waiting. He knows Bruce never lets him go just like that.

The next moment he is picked up, turned around and set down on the sturdy mahogany desk he just drooled on while fucked hard. The plug gets pushed further in and a soft mewl punches through his mouth.

Bruce smiles down at him, all indulgent now.

“Would you like if I helped with your little problem?” He asks, voice all cloyingly sweet, like honey. “You can’t get dressed like that.” Tim stares up at him. The first few lessons drained him until he was all but passed out, flaccid. But Bruce trained him how to claw back from the edge. How to be still, how not to even come. By now he was a master of fucking Tim without getting him off. But he never let Tim go without…

“I can handle it.” Tim chances, making to get off the desk. The night air is chilly, and he is tired after his lesson. He wants to sleep. He wants out of the room.

“Nonsense. Let me help you, chum.” Bruce says grabbing his hips, all magnanimous smiles and innocent eyes, like he wasn’t just fucking Tim for hours. He also doesn’t ask permission.

He pulls Tim’s legs apart and towards him, so a finger can push on the base of the plug, while the other hand wraps around Tim’s penis, engulfing it all, only the tip peeking out at them. Tim whimpers as a huge, body-wracking shiver takes over him. Bruce seemingly doesn’t care to wait, he starts pumping Tim’s cock as he tugs on the plug, knuckles rubbing Tim’s shaved balls in what could be an accident, but Tim already knows is not.

It feels like being underwater. All of Tim’s senses are pulled this way and that as Bruce makes short work of milking the orgasm out of him. It only takes a few pumps of his fist, a few taps on the plug before Tim is coming in Bruce’s palm, sobbing as the plug gets mercilessly pumped in his sensitive passage a lot longer than is pleasurable or necessary.

He might black out for a little, because when he blinks his eyes open again, Bruce is wiping his hands down with a baby wipe and Tim is in a pair of loose sweats. He even has socks on.

“Run along now, chum.” Bruce tells him with a commiserating grin. “And don’t you overdo the studying!”

Tim slides down from the desk on weak legs, adjusting to the sizeable girth of the plug, and then he takes the shirt from the back of the chair next to the door, pulling it on with lax fingers.

He doesn’t look back as he pulls the door open and waddles out. Bruce’s amused chuckle follows him down the corridor all the same.


End file.
